World of Warcraft Alliance - Born to Dance!

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Shake it, shake it, shake it l'il Gnome!

By Bobli Gnome

Well, well, well...now it comes time for the real heroes to stand up and be counted. And in my case, I can only assume that it's my diminutive height that has kept me from being noticed until now. It's bad enough that the beanpole of an elf got to you first but that hardheaded dwarf paladin Ironbutt would have to steal even more of my glory by relating his experiences as a fledgling adventurer in the World of Warcraft.

Well, enough is enough, I say! It's high time we let the world know about the real heroes -- the gnomes.

Not only are we wee people the smartest and most attractive residents of the world. We also excel at so-called adventuring skills. Many an adventuring party has lamented the lack of the little lads and lasses of gnomish society, not simply because we're the surest bet to get you out of trouble, but also because we can dance like there's no tomorrow. Yes, the life of the gnome is a good one. In fact, just about the only bad thing about the gnomish life is that you become overly familiar with the smell of elf knees and dwarf crotches. Well, that and being accused of being too humble.

My own name's Bobli and I've been a gnome for, well, for all my life, I suppose. But this adventuring thing is somewhat new to me. I know, I know. You're thinking, Bobli, you seem to sure of yourself and ruggedly manly; you seem like you must've been doing this all your life! Well, though we gnomes make it look easy, this old crotch-sniffer has come a long way in the last few weeks.

Being both responsible and capable enough to handle the arcane arts (put the power to control the elements in the hands of the dwarves or elves and see what heartache it gets you), I felt compelled, called even, to life as a mage. Sure, any dwarf with half a brain -- which is most of them -- can swing a hammer and any elf with two eyes in his head -- provided they're not covered by long, girlish tresses -- can shoot an arrow. But it takes a real man, a real gnome to handle the supreme responsibility magic requires.

Sharing our home with the dwarves, we gnomes are great neighbors, never coming round to ask for a cup of flour or dropping by unannounced with a heaping platter of pickled boar's feet. We've even forgiven the dwarves for stirring up trouble with the Rockjaw Troggs. Those addle-brained nincompoops (the dwarves, I mean; not the troggs) have an unhealthy obsession with digging deep into the mountains. They claim they're looking for treasure; I just think they're trying to escape a world where a person half their size can be twice as sexy and three times as important.

And now that those fools have unleashed all manner of evil beasties into the world, I've had to trade in my dancing shoes for a magic wand. Sure, I still find time to cut loose and have a little fun shaking my gnomish booty for the denizens of Dun Morgoth and other locales but my main responsibility now seems to be saving the inhabitants of the world from having to run their own errands. We gnomes are a generous sort and always willing to do a favor for less deserving people -- it's just part of our nature.

Since that blowhard Ironbutt has already told you just what types of encounters are to be found in our homeland, there's not much point in me rehashing all the particulars. But the world looks very different through the keen eyes of a sensible gnome than they do through the milky eyes of that dwarven roughneck or the glassy, vacuous gaze of our tall elf friend. For one thing it look s a hell of a lot taller to me.

When I look out into the world of our homeland of Dun Morgoth, I see a brilliant landscape of rolling, white hills and clusters of snow-covered pines. The bunnies that frolic in the wood are just about the only thing in this frozen heaven that I can honestly look down on -- at least from a height standpoint. But you simply can't let yourself be fooled into thinking that there aren't serious dangers lurking in the hills and valleys of the mountain.